


Now Do You See The Red In Me?

by guti



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Also AU in that Valencia aren't doing horribly since Gaz took over, Anal Sex, Angst, Intense football rivalries which carry over the years, Levante UD, M/M, Manager!Carra, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Unsafe Sex, Valencia CF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5898754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guti/pseuds/guti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As it turns out, Valencia CF aren't the only Spanish team looking for a new English manager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now Do You See The Red In Me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThomasandBasti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThomasandBasti/gifts).



14 February, 2016 - Sunday

Carra got the call on Valentine’s Day. He’d been expecting his phone to ring all evening, expecting it to be late, since Valencia played late the night before and Gaz was a busy person with a million responsibilities in life. But when his mobile finally went off, it wasn’t Gary on the other end. It was Quico Catalán, and he had a proposal to make.

Gary rang him an hour later, worn out from the weekend, but pleased from the result against Espanyol. Valencia were on the ascendency, at long last, and Gary was proud of it, with four Liga wins in a row and Copa still well in hand. Things were looking up for the club, and he was clearly looking for Jamie to validate him, the way he was trying to subtly fish for praise.

“It’s all turned ‘round, hasn’t it,” he said, sounding chipper.

“It sure has,” Carra answered, trying to match his tone, not quite able to. “You’ve done well with this, Gary.”

Gary thanked him and basked in the glow, and then the conversation turned, went on and on until they’d stopped talking football and started talking about, well…

“You should get down here sometime,” Gary said, a bit melancholic. “You’d love it here. The food’s incredible.”

“I like the food here just fine.” He sounded a little short. He didn’t mean to.

Gary didn’t seem to catch it, and so carried on. “And you could use some sun, you know.”

“Is this your way of saying I look like a ghost?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen you in months. You have looked a bit pasty on the show, though. They’re using a ghastly shade of make-up on you lately. Ought to fix that.” 

Jamie let out a small sigh.

“Listen, it’s my way of saying you ought to come and see me,” Gary said. On his end, Carra was smiling, biting back a little laugh. “I miss you, Jamie. I wish you were here.”

Carra stayed quiet at first, then cleared his throat. “I’ll be in Valencia tomorrow.”

Gary nearly choked on his own tongue. “What? What are you—?!”

“I’m leaving on a flight tomorrow morning. Should touch down around lunch time.”

“Oh my god. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I didn’t know until just before you called.” 

“That’s fine, I… I just wasn’t expecting it. Should I get you at the airport? How long are you planning to stay for? You’ll stay for my birthday, won’t you?”

“No. I mean, yes. I’ll be there for your birthday, Gaz. But I won’t need you to get me at the airport. I’ve got a ride.” He could practically hear Gary frowning on his end, so he took a deep breath, then added, “I just got off the line with Quico Catalán.”

It took Gary a few seconds to place the name, and when he did, he made that spluttering sound that Jamie always found so ridiculously charming. “Quico Catalán, as in the president of Levante?”

“That’d be him.”

Gary hesitated. “What’d he ring you up for?”

Jamie hesitated too, because he wasn’t really sure how to put it. So he went for the truth, the easiest and simplest answer. “He wants me to take over managing until the end of the season.”

Gary just about choked on his tongue again. “That’s— no, that’s ridiculous. You haven’t even got your badges yet. You’re not qualified.”

“Yes I have,” Carra said quietly. 

“No you haven’t. If you had, you’d have told me.”

“I hadn’t told anyone yet. Was going to surprise you.”

“You’re lying.”

“No. Why would I lie about something this important?” Jamie tried not to sound too frustrated, he understood Gary’s shock. He was pretty well shaken up by it himself, if he were being honest. The situation was pretty unbelievable, even he could admit that, but he’d never been the type to pull any sort of prank on that level, especially not with something as major as their careers on the line. “They’re sacking Rubi tomorrow, officially.”

“But that’s insane. He’s not even been there five months.”

“Five months and they’ve only picked up five points, Gary. The club’s unhappy.”

Gary snorted, “So they thinking bringing you in’ll fix that? You haven’t got any managing experience. All you do is talk on the telly every week.”

“It’s worked out just fine for Valencia,” Jamie said, unable to mask the slight sneer in his voice. It wasn't intentional, he just didn’t like being made to feel inferior, didn't like that Gary would dismiss him and what he was capable of, after all they’d been through. They were mates, weren’t they? They’d worked together for years, known each other even longer. If anyone ought to have unflappable confidence in his ability to somehow salvage Levante’s season, shouldn’t it be Gary Neville? After all, Jamie’d been nothing but glowing in his assessment of Gary’s managerial prospects. Didn’t he deserve something akin to it, especially from the man he’d been sleeping with for the last year?

“Valencia’s different,” Gary protested. Jamie could hear the scowl over the line. “And besides, I’ve at least tried my hand at managing before. What experience have you got, Jamie? I mean really. What are you going to offer a professional club that’s literally managed fourteen points all season?”

“Something different that they ain’t had before.” Carra’s cheeks had gone red. He was actually getting angry over it, which he figured might happen, but still. It was Valentine’s Day, for crying out loud. This wasn't how he’d meant to spend it, having a row long distance over the phone.

“And what’s that?” Gary asked.

Jamie went quiet a moment, then sighed. “They never had a manager what knows what it’s like to fight back from utter desperation and defeat, Gary. These kids have given up. They’ve blown it. Or so they think. I know what that feels like, quite acutely as a matter of fact, and if anyone knows what it takes to claw their way back, it’s me.”

Gary didn’t say anything, not a word. He just listened as Jamie breathed in and out, and after a moment his own breathing fell in time and they were breathing together. At last, Jamie broke the silence. “Can I stay with you?”

“What?” Gary snorted.

“For the night. Can I stay with you tomorrow?”

His snort turned into a laugh, fond and fully formed. “Don’t be stupid. Yes. Always, Carra. Stay with me as long as you like. But keep in mind, we’re rival managers now. You likely can’t stay with me for the whole season or the press’ll have a field day.”

“I know,” Carra said softly, voice as intimate as he knew how to make it. He wished he could stay, wished that he could just camp out at Gary’s place, laze in the sun, happy and in love, but life was never exactly easy or fair to star-crossed lovers. And that was what they were, had always been. It was only fitting that they go on in this way. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Okay. Good night. Ring me when you land.”

“Alright, mate.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jamie. Ta.”

— 

15 February, 2016 - Monday

It had been meant as a surprise, something he’d been working on slowly and in his own time. He’d never put too much thought into managing, but the idea had been floating around in the back of his mind for awhile, and so he started the process awhile back. Gary’d asked him about it a few times during their time together on MNF, and Jamie’d laughed, maybe, someday they’d take the reins of their respective clubs and face off again, just like old times, but it’d mostly been in jest. Still, he’d got himself certified and had all his badges, and it wasn’t Liverpool who needed him now, it was Levante. Liverpool had Klopp, they had someone tried and tested at the helm, someone who could right the ship whereas Levante were utterly sinking, mired, bogged down. Why not try his hand at something smaller? It might all be a wash, but then, maybe he’d have a good go next season in the Segunda, if he couldn’t fix it straight away.

Ed and the producers were in shock, aghast at losing both of their star pundits to Spain in the spell of two months, but they understood the opportunity and were supportive. Even Stevie was supportive, razzing him a little when they spoke on the phone in the early hours of the morning. 

“You can still be my assistant someday,” he’d teased. Jamie could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Or maybe you’ll be mine, eh?” Jamie smiled back, phone pressed to his ear.

“Sure,” Stevie laughed. “Spain, though. Valencia.” The way he said it made Jamie squirm.

“Yeah. Valencia.”

“That’s real convenient, innit.”

“Shut it.” 

“It is, though. Is he happy about it? I bet he’s about to explode.” 

“He’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Of course not.”

Jamie growled. Stevie laughed again, and when they hung up, Jamie went about packing his bag. What was he doing, really? And why was he doing it? It made sense, if he were to go down the managerial path, to take on a challenge of that caliber. Levante were struggling— bottom of the table, doomed to relegation only a few seasons after a decent showing in Europe. The club had potential, they were just lost. He could understand that, he’d felt that way before, seen clubs go through that same narrative time and time again, and he thought he might have a solution, might be able to dig them out of it. But why was he doing it? He had a pretty sweet gig for himself back home. He was bloody good at punditry, and at MNF he had the luxury of giving critique without having been tested himself. Taking over a club was a big step. He was opening himself up in a way he never had before, and it was time to put his money where is big mouth was.

It was pure coincidence that Levante happened to be in Valencia, and that Gary happened to be there too. He told himself that as he picked some socks out of the drawer and arranged them in his suitcase. Any club could’ve called and he might’ve said yes. It was only happenstance that the club who called were located in the same city as his now long-distance boyfriend.

He wondered, though, how did Gary really feel about it? Was he happy for him? Or was he put off that after all that time spent kidding about being rival managers, it was all coming true? Would this change things between them? Was he somehow overstepping his boundaries? Was he crossing some invisible line he hadn’t even known about? Jamie certainly hoped not, but. But. 

That was just it.

— 

 

He was met at the airport by representatives from the club, all welcoming him warmly, ushering him to the waiting car with Quico Catalán inside. En route they discussed the future of the club and Carra’s personal philosophies, as well as football in general. Jamie felt more at ease, laughing nervously from time to time, mentally cursing his own lack of Spanish language knowledge. 

After all the contracts were signed and the two minute press conference was staged, Catalán arranged for Jamie to get a ride over to Gary’s place. Of course, he didn’t tell his new boss whose house he was headed to, only saying he had a friend with whom he’d be staying, and that he’d be back to the club bright and early to meet with the players and start their first day of training. The media were having a field day with it, and laying low with Gary sounded right amazing, and as Gary greeted him at the foyer he just about leapt into his arms.

“This might’ve been a mistake,” he breathed, nose buried into the crook of Gary’s neck.

“You think so?” Gary sighed, holding him close, kicking the door closed behind them. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking, saying yes to all this.”

“You weren’t, probably.” Gary ran his hands down Jamie’s back, almost protectively. Jamie sighed, in spite of himself. “Come on, let me show you the place.”

The tour didn’t take long and it culminated with them making out on the sofa, curtains drawn for privacy, hands on each other, kissing hungrily. Jamie knew he missed him, he hadn’t realized how much though, not until he had Gary in his lap, fingers clenched in his hair, rocking against him slightly as they strained to kiss for as long as they could without parting. 

Finally they had to catch their breath, but they didn’t move yet, Gary straddling him, gazing down at him with a sort of haughty look in his eyes as he cupped Jamie’s cheek and rubbed his thumb over his skin. “Can’t believe you’re here. Or that you’ll be here. That you’ll be managing. What’s gotten into that head of yours, Carra? I feel like I hardly even know you now.”

Jamie frowned under the scrutiny. “I haven’t changed any. If anything, this is a return to the natural order of things, right? What I mean is, what are we if we aren’t forever rivals? Get it?”

“I understand what you're saying, but…” He trailed off, looking down. Carra reached up to pet his cheek. “It’ll be different now, won’t it?”

“We’ve always wanted our own stupid little side to win, Gary. That hasn't changed.” Gary’s brows creased in that way they always do, making Jamie chuckle. Jamie pulled him in close again, craning up so that he could align them just right for another kiss, if Gary would only give it. “Enough business talk now. I come all this way and all you want to do is talk football straight away, like you’re a pundit or something. You’re worse than I am. Now come on, give me a kiss. And make it like you missed me this time, dammit. I’ve missed you, you know.”

Gary didn't have to be asked twice, heart skipping a beat, lost in the heat in Jamie’s eyes. Slowly, he inched forward until their lips met again, kissing each other, taking their time, like there was nothing else in the world that mattered more than their being together. Jamie’s hands were on his hips then, pushing up at his shirt which he haphazardly started tugging off, unwilling to break this kiss to do so. Eventually he got the damned thing unbuttoned and threw it to the floor, both of them still kissing each other and moaning into the other’s lips. Gary started unfastening Jamie’s belt, perched in his lap still, and they moved and shifted together, parting at last so that they could strip off the rest of their clothing and just feel and touch each other’s bare skin. They stood there in the living room, face to face, just touching each other, basking in the glory of skin to skin contact. 

Jamie let his hands trace along the thinner lines of Gary’s stomach and hips, studied him, marveled at how different he looked after only a few months away. He’d gotten some sun, and the time in Spain had clearly suited him. He’d never looked bad, Jamie always thought he looked fucking gorgeous, but to see him in shape again put him in mind of the skinny little twat who used to drive him fucking insane back in the day. The scrawny little rat faced Manc bastard he used to despise on the pitch was standing before him, naked, looking at him like he was the best thing in the fucking world. It filled Jamie with a wild sort of lust like he hadn’t felt in ages.

Gary placed a hand flat on Jamie’s chest, right over his heart, which beat in the same steady way it always did, if a little faster than usual, and he admired him openly. He’d always sort of fancied him, if he were to be honest, always rather liked the idea of seducing that Scouse wanker, being in total control, making him beg for it, then leaving him behind. But he never could leave him behind, not once they’d given in and gotten together. By the time he’d gotten ’round to seducing Jamie Carragher, it was beyond just physical attraction, it was a bonafide emotional connection, it was bloody chemistry, and when they fucked it was like magic, sparks and all. And touching Carra’s skin after months of relying on memories and late night phone calls was almost too much for Gary to handle. He was rock hard and just desperate for Jamie to touch him. So he took Jamie’s hand and guided it to his cock, eyes rolling back a little as Jamie started to stroke him.

“Look at you, all wound up already.” He smirked, affection in his voice. Gary closed his eyes, nodding weakly. “You really did miss me, eh, Gaz.”

“Told you that on the phone,” he said, hips rocking forward slightly, a silent plea for more. 

“What’d you miss, then?” Jamie’s voice was soft, almost a purr, so seductive and sweet, coaxing Gary on as he rubbed his thumb over the head of his dick.

“This. You. Everything.” Gary’s breath caught in his throat. “Fuck, Jamie, I just missed being with you.”

“Have to be more specific, mate,” Jamie murmured. “You miss me touching you?”

“Yes.”

“You miss me hands on your cock?”

“Yes.”

“You miss me mouth on your cock?” Gary felt like his knees might give out and it showed on his face. Jamie let out a soft laugh. “You want me to suck you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, darling. Lover. Baby,” Gary stared at him, eyes large and imploring. Jamie wanted to snicker. It sounded so strange hearing such frivolous words coming from his mouth. “Suck me. Please.”

Jamie stared back at him, lips quirked into a smile that only grew wider with every word until he loosened his hold on Gary’s dick and sank to his knees on the floor before him. He gazed up at him, smirking still before he licked his lips and took his cock in his mouth, slowly coating the head and then the shaft with saliva. He took his time with is, savoring not only the familiar taste of him, but the irresistible sounds Gary made, the needy growls from the back of his throat, the little gasps, the whispered endearments and encouragement. He still moved at an achingly slow pace, bobbing his head, eyes closing as Gary ran his fingers through his hair, a wordless way of begging him for more. He could feel Gary’s body tensing, knew that if he kept on like that, arduous as it might have been, he’d make Gary come right then, and not wanting to end the fun there, he stopped, rocked back on his heels and looked up at him again, green eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Jamie,” Gary practically hissed, glaring down at him. “Fucker.”

“Eh,” he replied, leaning in again, tenderly kissing his way up Gary’s hip and stomach, slowly getting to his feet as he trailed the kisses up his chest to his collarbone, then to his throat where he stood there, biting him purposefully. “Only with you, Gary. Only want you.”

Under the heat of Jamie’s mouth, Gary was about ready to melt. He stayed perfectly still until he couldn't handle it any longer, throwing his arms around Jamie, holding him close, refusing to let go of him as Jamie sank his teeth into his neck. Gary moaned and greedily tangled his fingers in Jamie’s hair. “Fucker,” he breathed again, going weak against him. “Fuck me.”

Jamie mumbled something that almost sounded like ‘alright’ against Gary’s neck, leaving the already forming bruise on his throat with a gentle kiss. “You gonna beg me for it?”

Pressed against him still, Gary shook his head. “No. You’re gonna beg me.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t one of those confident laughs, it was a laugh of anticipation. They separated a moment, Gary handing him the lube he’d conveniently brought to the living room, like he knew what was going to happen, the cheeky bastard. Jamie looked around for a condom and was about to ask about it when he caught Gary’s eye and the stern shake of his head. “What?” He asked, sounding a little sheepish. “No rubber?”

“No.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows. This was new. “No?”

“No.” Gary slinked away from him, just out of reach, leaning suggestively over the arm of the sofa, looking as seductive as he knew how, which was strangely effective on Jamie. “I just want to feel you. Only want to feel you.”

“Shit,” Jamie exhaled, watching him sprawl out.

“Is that alright?”

Jamie nodded eagerly, feeling stupid, having grabbed his own cock without realizing it. 

“You sure?” Gary asked, looking over his shoulder, satisfied with his little act. Jamie nodded again, fumbling for the lube. “Then get over here and fuck me before I wise up and change my mind.”

So he did. He bent Gary over the arm of that sofa, held him down, and they fucked like they’d never fucked before, and it felt so good, so different, so incredible, Gary gasping and moaning beneath him, breathing hard in pants that were almost in time with the slap of skin against skin. Jamie’s fingers would probably leave marks on Gary’s hips, but neither of them cared, too caught up in the sensation, the emotion, everything, and without even noticing it was happening, Jamie started to whimper and beg.

“Gary, Gary,” he said, more of a sob than anything else. “Fuck, oh fuck.”

“Yeah?” 

“You feel so good, fuck. You fit me so good, baby.” He abruptly pulled him closer, thrusting into him with utter desperation. 

Face squished against the cushions, Gary was grinning, arching his back alluringly. “You like it, Carra?”

“Fuck.”

“You like fucking me, Carra?”

Jamie let out a low groan as his answer. Gary looked back at him, glaring a little.

“Best you ever had, Carra?”

He whined, pulling Gary closer.

“Best you ever had, Carra?”

Jamie closed his eyes, weakly nodding. “Best I ever had in me life. Fucking hell. You know you are. You feel so good, Gary. You feel bloody amazing.”

“Come for me, Jamie. Come on, love.”

He nodded again, feeling light headed, and it only took a few more thrusts for him to finish, coming hard inside of him, so hard he practically shuddered into him. Gary took it all, moaning as Jamie filled him up, moaning louder when he pulled out, come dripping out of him, spilling onto the hardwood floor.

“Shit,” Jamie gasped, staggering back a little, unable to stop from staring. “Shit, mate, that’s hot.”

Gary’d been tempted to right himself, but he stayed in that same position a moment longer, letting Jamie admire him. “You like coming in me, eh?”

Jamie bit his lower lip, eyes shining. “Aw, mate, it’s like nothing else, you tight little Manc bastard. God.”

“Yeah?” Gary smirked, shifting a little.

“Mm.”

“Alright, well,” he moved then, crawling forward onto the couch, rolling onto his back, revealing his still erect cock. “Come take care of this, Jamie, or that’ll be the last time I let you finish in my arse.”

He didn’t have to say it twice. After some brief maneuvering, his dick was back in Jamie’s mouth. It didn’t take long for Gary to come, eyes rolling back a little, he tried to give a choked out warning to him before coming into his mouth. It tasted familiar to Jamie, and he swallowed instinctively, resting his head on Gary’s belly when he was done. Gary reached for him, carding his fingers through his hair with the sort of fondness he reserved only for precious few in his life. Jamie smiled against his stomach.

“I fucking love you,” he said, eyes closed, planting featherlight kisses onto Gary’s stomach again. “I’m so in love with you.”

“I know,” Gary said, petting his hair, laughing when Jamie sneered at him. “I meant I know you are, and I am too. I’m in love with you. You know I am. And I’m damn happy you’re here.” He stopped then, frowning faintly.

Jamie frowned too. “But?”

“But we both know why you’re here, Jamie.”

Right. Football. Work. Obligations beyond themselves. They locked eyes with each other, understanding, and they didn’t say another word on the subject that night. After showering, they had dinner and they slept together in Gary’s bed, and in the morning a car came to take Jamie to the Levante training facility. He wasn’t sure when he’d get to see Gary again.

—

18 February, 2016 - Thursday

It ended up being three whole days before they could see each other. This time Gary came over to the apartment the club had arranged for Jamie to stay in for the rest of the season. It was a nice little place, fully furnished, and near to the training facilities, and they’d even arranged for a car for him to use until he got one of his own. It was all lovely, and Jamie was grateful, even as his reservations at taking the job mounted. He was, after all, entirely inexperienced when it came to managing a club on a professional level, but he did have the mind for it and the will to try. 

The job would never be an easy one. The odds weren’t on his side, to steer a club in twentieth place out of relegation, make them into something better. It was impossible, but it was a big job for anyone, let alone a manager with no practical experience in doing anything of the sort. Still, he had to try, had to give it his all, like he’d done all his life. 

So he met with the lads and spent his first day on the job observing them and chatting with them via a translator, letting them share their ideas about what had gone wrong. And those ideas were numerous and all-encompassing. According to the players there wasn’t one single problem to lay it all on, there were dozens of issues, major and minor to contend with. It was now up to Jamie Carragher to right that ship, and it was for certain that he had his work cut out for him.

Wednesday had gone about the same as Tuesday, except with longer hours and the actual introduction of a tactical plan for facing Getafe on Friday. The lads were eager to hear out his plan, and they’d done their best to start implementing it during their training sessions, but the learning curve was steep. Even with a clean slate under a new manager, there were little bits of tension on the team that Jamie was only just learning about, nasty habits that needed to be nipped and so on. It would take time, and until then the media in Spain and abroad would certainly have a field day skewering the loud-mouthed pundit’s attempts at putting his money where his mouth was. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but if nothing else, he had a fine example to look to in Gary.

Gary’d been busy all on his own. Valencia had found their stride after stumbling out of the gate. The wins were finally coming, not just in the Copa but in Liga too, and they’d just finished up their first leg against Wien that Thursday, victorious at home. It was exactly what Lim and the fans wanted, exactly the sort of outcome Gary needed to show he wasn’t just talking out his ass. Jamie was proud of him, and he silently hoped he’d be able to do what Levante had asked of him the same way Gary was managing to hit Valencia’s goals.

Thursday night had finally rolled around and Gary was at his new place, perched on his sofa sipping some red wine while Carra cooked for him. He thought about taking him out for dinner, it was Gary’s birthday after all, but neither of them felt like risking unwanted attention by heading out. The paps would have a field day, if the managers of two rival clubs were spotted having a romantic night on the town and there was no need to go through all that. Besides, Jamie’d found a recipe for making paella at home, and being a decent enough chef, he figured he might try it. So Gary was there with his Rioja, watching him from across the open living room, and everything was going according to plan.

“How much longer on that?” Gary asked, sniffing dramatically.

“I dunno,” Carra said, checking on his concoction. “A few minutes, maybe. Doesn’t quite look done.” Truthfully, he had no idea. He’d never made paella before.

It turned out well enough. Edible, flavorful, not bad for a first attempt, but he’d have to practice a bit for the next time, which was typical for most everything in life. After they finished up eating and returned their emptied plates to the kitchen, the two men sat across from each other at the small glass dining room table. Large windows framed the corner room, looking out over the Valencian skyline, the Mediterranean empty and black in the distance. As they sat there in silence, Jamie couldn’t help but wonder how it came to be that these two men from England had come across the sea to conquer this other world, and more so wonder why either of them had said yes to a task so futile. It made sense for Gary to go down this path, to embrace the managerial life. He’d always been a schemer, ambitious, clever, natural in everything he tried. Carra wasn’t like that. It was more of a struggle for him. It wasn’t that he was naturally deficient or something, or that Gary’s efforts weren’t in earnest, but rather he saw their paths to their stations as so very different. Success came naturally to men like Gary Neville. Men like Jamie Carragher had to claw at it, and even then it wasn’t a guarantee, and it certainly wasn’t pretty. Maybe that was why he’d said yes to Quico Catalán when the offer’d come in, because it felt like an extension of the way things were and they way they always would be.

He was gritting his teeth. He didn’t even realize it until he felt Gary’s hands on his shoulders. He hadn’t even noticed Gary get up and walk over to him, and it took him a few seconds to let out the breath he’d been holding and relax back against him.

“First official match tomorrow,” Gary said, giving him a squeeze. “Eh, Mister. You nervous?”

“Never.” He was basically dying inside, but he wasn’t about to say as much. Instead, he ended up yawning. Loath as he was to admit it, the long days were wearing on him. He was working harder physically than he had since his playing days. Sure, the Spanish had their tradition of siesta, but he wasn’t Spanish, he was Scouse, and napping the afternoon away just wasn’t his style. He wound up waking up at dawn and working much later than he’d intended, and he was less than a week into the gig. He could only imagine how exhausted he would feel at the end of the season.

Gary chuckled, his way of calling the fib, then he leaned in and kissed Jamie’s cheek. “I should go.”

Jamie frowned, turning sharply, “No, wait. You don’t have to.”

Gary was already headed toward the door, glancing back at him with a shrug. “You’re going to need your rest. Be a good example to your lads.”

He swallowed hard, but in the end, he couldn’t stop Gary from leaving. Before he fell asleep though, he sent him a text message, telling him happy birthday and promising to make it up to him as soon as they both had an evening free.

— 

Before bed, he turned on the TV for a few minutes and caught the end of some footage of Gary and his team, gathering them around him, smile bright. He was speaking to them in broken Spanish, gesticulating wildly, and when he was done, for some reason he met Álvaro’s gaze and they shared a look that under any other circumstance might be considered parental, but. Carra knew that look (too familiar, too affectionate, too proud, wanting, needing, more) and he willed it from his mind as he shut off the television and settled in for the night.

—

6 March, 2016 - Sunday

Levante got off on the wrong foot with their new manager. Or rather, they didn't exactly get off on the right one. The first match against Getafe was a bust. They lost, but it wasn’t a blow out, and that night Gary called Jamie to let him know his thoughts. Jamie tried not to take it all too personally, but it stung a little. He knew he’d have lots of work to put in, but the ego boost of winning at the jump would've been so grand. He mentioned that to Gary, who only gave a knowing laugh.

“You’re doing fine,” Gary’d said. “A two-one loss isn’t terrible. You’ve only had five days at this. Stop thinking about how nice it would’ve been and think about how nice it will be when they do win.”

And it was true, Gary was right. He couldn't beat himself up over losing with less than a week spent with the team. So he hunkered down and forged ahead, impressing on the team some of the lessons he’d learned from every one of the men who’d managed him, and other lessons still, from some of the men who hadn’t. He always focused on the defense. It was where they were failing. Levante could score goals, they’d done so all season. Where they slipped up was in the back, and Jamie was sure he could fix that. It didn’t come quickly though, and they weren’t aided by facing the third and fourth places teams back to back. Defending against the Yellow Submarine and Los Blancos would never be easy, but by the time they’d traveled to the Anoeta, Les Granotes were looking halfway decent, and against all odds, they managed to salvage a point for their efforts. It was their first point in over two months, and Carra was determined to celebrate it like it was a win. He praised the boys in the post match presser and confidently proclaimed the match a turning point, the start of a new era for Levante U.D.

He was grinning still when one of the journalists asked him if he was excited to be facing Gary Neville’s side the next week, and after almost flinching a little, he waved at his translator and simply replied, “Sí. Muy. Siempre.”

And he meant it. He really did.

Gary called him that night, after Valencia managed to draw against Atleti.

“Was that supposed to be Spanish?” Gary teased, obviously having just seen the interview. “Your accent’s atrocious.”

“Sod off, still sounds better than yours,” Jamie said, smile in his voice. It was nearly midnight and he’d just gotten into his flat. Locking the door behind him, he kicked off his shoes and made a beeline for his bed, not bothering to bring his luggage in past the front foyer. “But I am excited for next week. It’ll be like old times, eh?”

Gary didn’t say anything at first, he just made a small sighing sound. Jamie paused his undressing to listen to him, suddenly feeling a little unsure. 

“Yeah, like old times,” Gary said finally. Carra tossed his shirt on the floor and kept on listening. “It’ll be strange, being on the opposite ends of it all again.”

Jamie snorted, perched on the foot of his bed. “We’ve always been on the opposite ends, Gary. S’why we get on so well, don’t you think?”

Gary sounded confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’d be awfully boring, loving someone who had the exact same perspective as you. Loving someone who sees everything like you do, loving someone who thinks the same, talks the same, wants the same. Isn’t that just boring?”

“It sounds… safe.”

“Precisely. It’s safe. It’s bland, it’s mid-table mediocre. And we never did like mediocre, did we, Gaz?”

Gary laughed. “No. All or nothing. Guts and glory.”

“Blah, blah, blah, exactly. You’ve got your side and I’ve got mine, and when we come together, it’s absolute magic, no matter which of us gets the win.”

“My side, usually.”

“Excuse me?”

Gary laughed again. Jamie let him. Before they hung up, they made plans for Jamie to stay the night after the derby. 

“Unless you don’t want me to stay,” Jamie said, twisting under the covers, listening to Gary’s tinny laugh over the line.

“Of course I want you to stay,” he answered. “Always, Carra. Siempre.”

—

He thought about it, as he laid in bed, trying to sleeping. Gary wanted him to stay, always. And if he said it, it must be true. Jamie shut his eyes tight and tried not to think about it anymore. There would be no more buts about it. 

—

13 March, 2016 - Sunday

In the first fifteen minutes, Levante’d been red carded; a sloppy tackle by the skipper left the spectators in shock, and it was all downhill from there. Despite their best efforts at staying calm, at keeping the tensions down, the situation came to a head just after Negredo scored Valencia’s second goal of the night. The Levante lads were getting testy, voices raised and there may be have been some elbows thrown about. Jamie and Gary both were out of their seats, pacing about, yelling unintelligible commands at their players when it all went to hell and Deyverson collected his second yellow of the match and was promptly sent off. The Ciutat de València erupted, absolutely enraged, and Carra did too. Nine men? How could they possibly play with nine men, against a side that was not just better on paper but actually better?

“What the fuck!” Jamie yelped, watching as Deyverson trudged off the pitch and toward the locker room. 

A few feet away, Gary stood in his box staring, a dark look about him. 

“Watch it,” he warned, loud enough that Carra could hear him over the noise of the crowd. From the dugout, Phil’s head was poking out to watch the exchange with wide eyes. He looked sort of like a rabbit, stupid and scared.

“You watch it, mate,” Carra spat, stomping away, to the other side of the painted box, as far away from Gary as he could manage. 

Gary wasn’t done with him though. “Stop acting like a child.” Jamie tried to ignore him. Gary continued. “Rough tactics aren’t going to win this one. You know better than that.”

Jamie turned back to look at him, eyes narrowing. “Tell that to yours, then!” He shouted, rushing back toward Gary, who was standing his ground. 

“Mine haven’t picked up any cards.” 

“Those were shit calls and you know it!”

“Eh, but that’s the nature of the game, Carra, or have you forgotten?”

Jamie was seeing red. Luckily though, before anything escalated, the referee blew the whistle and it was halftime. Phil emerged from his hiding spot and put an arm around his brother’s shoulder, and Jamie’s own assistants ushered him inside. Forty-five minutes in and it was going to be a long, hellish night.

The second half was no better. Another goal from Valencia right from the kick off and the stadium was screaming for blood. Carra could only watch in disgust, catching a glimpse of Gary and Phil huddled together out of the corner of his eye. He could barely stand the sight of them, the rush of those old, intense feelings bubbling back, reminding him of exactly why he hated those bastards for all those years. You could take the Manc out of Manchester, but he would always be a dirty Manc.

But then, somehow, there came to be a light. Against all odds, Morales got a breakaway, beat the keeper, and suddenly Levante were on the board. Jamie cried out with joy, jumping, clamoring around his assistants. Across the painted lines, Gary watched him, looking stern. Jamie grinned at him proudly. Nine men and they wouldn't give up the fight. They still had twenty minutes to go and the match wasn’t over.

Of course, Valencia wouldn't give up so easily either, and that’s when things went from frenzied to out of hand. There was a poor tackle in the box, a clear penalty in favor of Levante, and the ref didn’t call it. The men on the pitch were screaming. The spectators were screaming. Carra was screaming too. A few feet away, Gary stood there in quiet judgement, watching it unfold.

“He tripped him!” Jamie screeched, right at that pitch and volume he knew could pierce through the other sounds. “That’s a fucking penalty! Are you fucking blind?!”

“Are you trying to get a red card?” Gary hissed, suddenly turning to him, voice raised.

“What the hell do you care?” Jamie snipped. “You’re playing dirty, Gaz. We’re only stooping down to your level!”

“Don’t be a twat,” Gary growled. “You knew what you were getting into.”

“Didn’t know you’d be teaching your team how to cheat. Should’ve figured it though. Your lot never could play fair. Fucking cheat. Fucking filthy Manc cheater, can’t keep his hands to himself!” 

Gary gasped, offended. “What’s the supposed to mean?”

Jamie’s lips were moving before he could even stop to think. “It means I know how you treat your players, seen how you look at ‘em. Like you want ‘em to fuck you, Gaz. Fucker.”

And it was enough to push the whole thing over the edge and into sheer insanity. Jamie countered with a few choice words (which may or may not have included some personal digs— too close, too cutting) which in turn had Gary storming over to him, making himself seem very large as he got right in Jamie’s face and told him exactly what he thought of him. Phil rushed over too, to try and pry his brother away from Jamie before the linesmen could get involved, but it was too late. Whistles blew, cards were shown, and Gary and Phil were both sent to the locker room, leaving Los Che without their head staff and Carra sitting on the bench, sulking, cursing himself and the world and Gary fucking Neville. 

Until Levante somehow managed to score twice more. It ended after ninety six minutes in a bloody draw, emphasis on the word bloody. 

In the presser afterwards, someone asked him about Gary, asked him about the exchange which had precipitated Gary and Phil being sent off. Apparently the cameras hadn’t caught their exact words, but lip readers were on the case.

“Did you really imply that Gary Neville is a cheater?” A reporter asked. Jamie looked to his translator for help before giving a shrug.

“It was the heat of the moment. He’s not. Not really. Was just angry.”

There was a lot of chatter in Spanish that he didn't quite understand, but it was fine, he just said something generic and got up to leave. As he made his way down the hall, a small child, one of the ball boys, ran up to him and shoved a slip of paper into his hand.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“Para ti,” the boy said, darting off. 

Jamie frowned and opened it, recognizing Gary’s handwriting straight away. ‘Mestalla. Midnight.’

—

He showed up at 12:01. Gary was in the parking lot, leaned against his car, watching as he pulled up and parked beside him. Jamie sat in the car for a minute before shutting off the engine, sighing as he got out and walked around the front to join Gary.

“Hey,” he said softly, not meeting Gary’s eyes.

Gary didn’t say a word, lips pursed into a thin, angry line. If Jamie weren’t feeling so sorry for himself, he might’ve made a crack about how comical he looked. But it wasn't the time, it wasn't the place. He’d fucked up, he knew it. He’d pushed it over the line, spoiled everything, just like Gary said he would, and now he had to come to grovel. He imagined, briefly, what it might've been like if they’d fallen in love years ago, back when they were playing together. What would it have been like to have to drive all the day to Manchester to beg for forgiveness. Could he have managed it? Could he have done it and come out of there feeling less like a fool? He sure felt like a fool there in the car park of the Mestalla in the middle of the night, half-tempted to drop to his knees and say he was sorry. 

“Gary,” he started weakly, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “Come on, mate. Say something.”

“You’re an absolute shithead.”

Jamie blinked, then nodded. “Alright.”

“Do you ever think before you act, Jamie? Ever?”

“Of course I do.” He swallowed hard, unable to match the bitterness in Gary’s voice. “I think all the time.”

“And yet you still make the stupidest mistakes. You got me red carded, Jamie!” Their eyes met then, and Jamie wanted to look away, Gary was so cold. But he didn’t, he refused, instead setting his jaw and letting him go on. “You want to know which of us is playing dirty? It ain’t me, mate. I didn’t come for you today. I didn’t bring us up. It’s about the game, Carra. For me it’s about the game. For you, it’s about pulling one over on United, any chance you get. Forget that you said you loved me. In the end, what’s that matter, if you can settle the score from years ago, eh? Is that why you said yes to them? Is that why you’re here?”

Jamie didn’t know what to say. He slowly closed his eyes and started to turn away.

“I told you, didn’t I? I told you this would change things. We can’t be lovers and rivals all at the same time. It can’t fucking work.”

He finally found his voice again, just as the wind was knocked out of his chest, “Gary…”

Gary shifted, sinking back against the frame of his car, arms folded over his chest. “I told you I loved you. I meant it. I thought you meant it too.”

“I did,” Jamie stammered. “I do. You fucking know that.”

“So act like it.”

Jamie threw his hands up in frustration. “What do you want me to do? Pretend like I don’t care if my side wins? Admit to the world that we’ve been shagging all this time? Tell the paps that I love you? Because I would, Gary. Don’t make this a test.”

“No,” Gary said firmly, shaking his head. “Just… don’t use us against me. That’s cheap, Jamie. That’s a low blow and you know it.” His eyes seemed less cold then, more wounded than anything else. “I’m trying so hard. I’m struggling, and you know that. Don’t make it any harder.”

“But we’re meant to be rivals,” Jamie protested.

“Not like that.” Gary sighed, looking up at him slowly. He looked so tired, so worn out, Jamie wanted to put his arms around him, hold him tight, kiss away every ounce of doubt and discouragement in his heart. Instead, he stood there, stiff and awkward, watching Gary’s face contorting in exasperation. Instead of reaching out though, Jamie stayed quiet, waiting for him to go on. For his part, Gary just stared at him, then shook his head. “Why’d you come here?”

Jamie blinked, surprised. “You asked me here.”

“No, not tonight,” Gary sighed. “Why’d you come to Spain? To Levante. Why are you doing this? Is it for you? For the club? For me? Why, Jamie? I’ve been trying to figure this out for a month and I still can’t understand you.”

That threw him for a bit of a loop there, and he had to stop himself from spouting out some canned answer, like he’d done with Ed, like he’d done with the team, like he’d done at every press conference he’d given since arriving in Spain. Gary wasn’t them, he deserve a proper answer, but what could Jamie tell him that wouldn’t sound stupid or thoughtless or like a downright lie? The truth was, he’d had an answer for it, a month ago. It seemed like the right thing to do, the next logical step in things. Honestly, it even seemed like it might be fun, in an experimental sort of way, to try his hand at managing with a club where he wasn't expected to succeed. Any result would be a good one. Sparing them from relegation would be even better. He couldn’t lose, and if he did, he’d return to Liverpool anyways. That’d always been the plan. Sort of.

But as he stood there in the parking lot, the blue-black sky above them casting the entire scene in a sort of somber glow, it seemed like every justification he had was slipping away. Had he done all this to get Gary’s attention? No. That was just a side effect. He’d wanted to do something right, something good, to stay relevant in football, to do something on his own, prove his worth, prove he wasn't just some talking head. Being in Valencia with the man he loved, the man who’d left him gutted when he walked away… that was a benefit that came after. 

“I thought I could do it,” Jamie said, voice quiet as could be. “I wanted to do it. I wanted to show the world, myself, you, everyone, that I wasn’t the dumb one, the one who always got it wrong. But maybe I am that way. I suppose they’ve been right all this time.”

Gary laughed, scoffed really. “You’re not dumb. You know more about football than anyone I’ve ever met in my life, and I’m saying that honestly. You’re bloody sharp, Carra. Encyclopedic. I wish I had your mind for this. It’s like second nature with you.”

“It’s not natural,” Jamie mumbled. “It’s obsessive, because I’ve got to prove it.”

“Oh, come off it with that lack of confidence bullshit. You’re clever as fuck and you know it. You’ve got nothing to prove in that department.”

“Having an encyclopedic knowledge isn’t really worth fuck all if you haven’t put it to use though, is it.” Jamie leaned back against his own car door, arms crossed in a mirror of Gary’s own stance. “But you want to know why I came? Alright then. I came because this was the next step, the next thing to do to be something more than a pundit, to stay involved and not let this sport pass me by. Do I really give a shit about managing Levante? No, not really. I didn’t know much about them until a month ago, but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to commit. They asked for me to help, so here I am, helping. I didn’t come for glory, and I didn’t come for you.”

Gary frowned, watching him. He didn’t say anything.

“I didn’t come for you, Gary. But you know what? If you’d asked me to come, I would’ve.” Jamie cleared his throat, quickly glancing over his shoulder. The parking lot was still empty. They were still alone. “And I’m sorry for what I said earlier. That was low, and I know it was, and… I wasn’t thinking. I was mad at the call.”

Gary exhaled loudly, shaking his head. “Do you even remember what you said to me?”

“Uh…” He didn’t, actually.

“You said that I wanted my players to fuck me.”

Jamie felt his cheeks turning red. “Oh.”

“Why the hell would you say that?”

Jamie scuffed his shoes on the concrete, wanting to shrink under the scrutiny of it all. “I just saw you and Álvaro, on the TV, and you were—”

“Me and Álvaro? Are you out of your mind?” Gary had one of those looks on his face, like he wasn’t sure if he should be more scandalized or amused. “I don’t want Álvaro— or any of them— to fuck me. You actually think I'd do that? What’s going on in that head of yours, Carra?”

“I seen how you look at him. You look like you want him to take you into the showers and fuck your brains out.”

“I do not, jealous bastard. I'm doing a job here. I'm trying to lead this team, and I'm frankly appalled that you'd think that of me.” 

“Gary.”

“Besides the fact that it's fucking ludicrous, if there’s anyone alive I'd want to fuck in the showers, it’s you. It’s always been you, since forever it’s been you. Even before Sky. Before I retired. Always. Dumb, jealous bastard.” Jamie flinched a little, scrutinizing Gary’s expression, looking for any tells that it was a joke or that he was being played. Instead he saw a sort of openness he wasn’t used to seeing outside the bedroom, and to his surprise, Gary reached out for him, grabbing hold of his hand. “I’m pissed at you. You know that? I’m really angry. But I…”

“You wanna go fuck in the shower?” Jamie asked, bringing Gary’s fingers to his lips. He wasn’t sure why he was doing that, but kissing his knuckles just felt right. That’s how it had always been with them. No thought, no logic, just the sheer instinct that being together was right. 

Gary nodded, their eyes meeting again, anger fading, only just. 

“I’m sorry,” Jamie mumbled as he kissed Gary’s fingers once more. 

“Bastard,” Gary muttered under his breath, holding fast to Jamie's hand as they walked toward the entrance to the Mestalla.

—

16 May, 2016 - Monday

They’d earned at least one point every match since the draw and nobody can believe it. No losses since the game against Real Madrid in March. Eight wins, two draws, against Atleti and Malaga. Levante finished the season in 13th place and well above relegation, somehow, against the expectations of everyone involved. And Valencia managed to salvage most of their season, finishing in 8th. There would be no European season next year for either club, but the results were respectable and the job was done.

The only real question hanging in the air was the one about next season. Would they stay on? Would they fuck off back to England? Back in February, Carra had an idea of what he might do once June came around, but after a few months in the hot seat, he had all but changed his mind. It turned out, once he found his footing, he had a decent mind for managing. All those hours, days, weeks of his life spent pouring over every game he could see, studying the sport as if it were a religion, all of it paid off. He had a good rapport with the players, Quico Catalán was happy, and the fans wanted him to stay in Valencia. So maybe he would, if the extension offer was made.

Gary was another story entirely. His journey had been less storybook romance and more of a hard-fought battle to keep his place. Jamie understood his lover’s reluctance to want to stay, but part of him hoped they’d have one more try together in Spain. A full season to test themselves, to show the world what a couple of fat old pundits could do. Well, one fat old pundit and one fit, devastatingly handsome, not quite as old pundit.

It was mid-morning and they were in Jamie’s bed, naked still, Jamie’s arm curled around Gary, holding him close against his chest. The sun streamed in through the windows, casting them both in a haze of orange— fitting, given their locale. They might’ve stayed like that for hours, enjoying the first day of rest either of them had had for months, their first day together that could be spent in their own time, without rushing off to meetings or training sessions or preparing for a game. It was just the two of them, all alone, like they’d never been in their lives.

Gary draped his arm over Jamie’s stomach, palm flat against his ribs as he settled in against him. Jamie pulled him in tighter, eyes fixed on the windows, on the little gap at the top where the curtains didn’t quite align, letting the daylight in. It was, no doubt, a beautiful morning, sun shining, beckoning them out into the world. There were so many things to do, places to see, people to meet. There was an entire city out there, and it could be just theirs, something all their own, a place in between Manchester and Liverpool.

“What’ve you got for today?” Gary ask, voice muffled a bit as his lips were still pressed to Jamie’s chest.

“Nothing,” Jamie said, running his fingers through Gary’s hair. “You?”

“No. What should we do then? The beach?”

Jamie sniffed dismissively, “Too crowded.”

“One of the museums, then?” 

Jamie tilted his chin down, giving him _a look_. Gary just laughed. 

They decided on the aquarium, and a few hours later as they wandered together through the tunnel of water, schools of hundreds of beautiful fish surrounding them, Jamie turned to Gary, a cheesy grin on his face. “See now, aren’t you glad I came to Valencia?”

“No,” Gary said, looking up at the glittering rainbow animals zipping through the water above them. 

“No?” Jamie asked, looking offended. A group of small children pushed past them, running by, no doubt in a hurry to go see the dolphins and fully oblivious to the two foreigners they’d barged right into.

“I wish you’d stayed in England,” Gary said, watching the fish still. Jamie frowned. “I wish we’d both stayed.”

“Ah,” Jamie said, sidling up beside him, careful not to stand too close. Before them, on the display labeling the different species of fish, their fingers barely touched, just like they used to back in the studio, back home, when they’d really and truly fallen in love. “You want to go home, Gary?”

He nodded, slowly flicking his eyes to the side, just catching Carra’s gaze. “Sometimes.”

“Alright then. Let’s go home.”

Gary turned to look at him fully, expression one of disbelief. “Oh, shut it. We’re not going home.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t be daft. Levante’s going to offer you the spot permanently. They’d be stupid to let you walk away.”

“But I’d walk away,” Jamie said. “I’d walk away from everything. If you decided to go, I’d go too.”

“Oh, please.”

“I’m a damn good pundit, Gary. You even said so, best you’ve ever worked with, your favorite.”

Gary wrinkled his nose, “I’m somewhat biased, you realize.”

“I can go back whenever I want to, and Sky’d take me back. And you too. They’d welcome us back with open arms, probably throw us a ‘come back special’, like we’re Elvis or something.”

“That sounds terrible. The ratings would probably be through the roof.”

Jamie smirked at him, eyebrows raised. “We can always go home again. Whenever you want to throw in the towel, we’ll have a place and we can go.” 

There was a silent word hanging in the air between them. After a moment, Gary bit. “ _Or_?”

Jamie grinned, putting his arm around Gary’s shoulder. “Or we can stay another year and see how this gig rounds out. We’ll have a clean slate come August. Of course, you’ll likely spend loads over the summer, but that’s to be expected. I’ll work with what resources they give me, and in the end, we’ll have a fair contest to see which of us is truly the greatest pundit-turned-manager.”

Gary could only grin at him in return, dark eyes flashing with mischief. “Alright, Carra, mate. You’re on.”

“Brilliant,” Jamie laughed, keeping his arm around Gary as they strolled through the aquarium. “Just wouldn’t be a proper rivalry if we two weren’t involved, yeah?”

He snorted and made a face (a happy one). “Exactly. What’s football without you and me going at it, eh, Carra?”

“That’s right, Gaz,” Jamie said, giving his shoulders a teensy squeeze. “Just you and me, right? Always, mate?”

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- So when I started writing this fic in mid-January, Levante were in 20th place and had only earned 14 points all season. It’s been an utterly abysmal start to their season, but as I was writing this story, they’ve managed to earned some points and are looking less and less horrible. Still not good, but not as bad as I’ve made them out to be in this fic. So please consider this an AU where the divergent point from reality happens sometime before January 25, 2016.
> 
> \- Obviously things have changed for Valencia in that time as well so. Clearly they got knocked out of Copa, and they didn't have a Liga win until the game against Espanyol, so please consider these imaginary results as part of an AU of what could've been and just go with it ok? Ok! 
> 
> \- Carra started to work on earning managing certification back in 2010! He’s said that he wasn’t sure if he’d like to pursue that career, but his time working with Fabio Capello inspired him to dabble in it. He said if he ever did manage, he’d look at Capello for inspiration, as he appreciates his defensive tactics and that as a defender he’s appreciated coaches who put an emphasis on defending.
> 
> \- I based the end results on past seasons and how these teams fared/what a reasonable finish might be considering how shit they’ve been up until this point. Again, this was all based on what was current when I started writing the fic, and basically nothing went according to how I predicted. Whomp whomp.
> 
> \- Check out how rad this [aquarium](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HiXbBLhVJoc) is!
> 
> \- Here's a [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=buNNxEQHhhA) to go along with it.
> 
> \- I hope you enjoy this fic! :D


End file.
